


It Always Runs Back (It's Never Quite the Same)

by spacetrek



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, as usual, gratuitous overuse of dashes in the second chapter, happy birthday b man sorry i'm late, i have a headache but i've been meaning to write this for weeks so here it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:38:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17966747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacetrek/pseuds/spacetrek
Summary: Sometimes the thought behind the gift means a lot more than the gift itself, even if you can or do have most of what you want.  Maybe especially then.





	1. Will You Make Me Stronger

_ A friend is a gift you give yourself – Robert Louis Stevenson _

 

Birthday parties probably ranked above masquerade balls on Bruce’s personal list, but only just.

 

Traditionally, birthday parties were given by someone else, and really that made more sense, but in his social circle, most people threw their own birthday bashes.

 

At least he had some control over it this way.

 

“Brucie!”

 

Melanie McNear (twenty-two, three small dogs, extreme fondness for the color yellow) leaned over his arm, smiling.Bruce smiled back.No one here would care if it didn’t quite reach his eyes – many of theirs didn’t, either.

 

“Mel, you look lovely.How are you?”

 

“Oh, I can’t complain.Especially tonight – you always throw the most wonderful parties.”Another smile.Hers were more genuine than most, and she wasn’t even angling for anything.If not for her constant gossip, Bruce almost thought he could like her.

 

“This was all Alfred – I’d lose my head if he weren’t around to keep it attached to my shoulders.”

 

“Quite, sir.”Impeccably timed as ever, Alfred breezed by, doubtless on some doomed mission to keep the Wollton sisters from drinking them dry.

 

“He’s a good one.”Melanie leaned in closer, and Bruce very carefully did not sigh. _Here we go._ “I heard that Vinnie’s Carlton stole her best silver – the set her father left her, you know – and pawned it all before she found out.”

 

“That’s dreadful.”

 

“Isn’t it?”Never one to be sad over misfortune for long, Melanie laughed, bright, and pointed with her champagne glass.“At least you won’t have to worry, Bruce – no butler could steal that much silver.Not that Alfred would do such a thing,” she added hastily.

 

Privately, Bruce was absolutely certain that if Alfred decided to abscond with Wayne Manor itself no force on Earth could stop him, but he couldn’t voice that thought in present company.“No, I don’t suppose he would.”

 

And anyway, the reminder of all the things he’d received tonight was— disheartening.Oh, a few were more thoughtful, almost acknowledging his personal tastes, but most were extravagant, meaningless, with exorbitant price tags. 

 

Gifts, like so much in this world, were a competition.  It wasn't about what the recipient might want, or need – not that Bruce Wayne truly _needed_ anything, obviously.It was more about showing off the giver’s wealth and personal relationship with another social paragon than any real attachment.

 

_I dropped a few thousand on Brucie’s birthday this year.Of course I was invited._

 

Bruce took a drink of his subpar alcohol substitute and tuned Melanie out, listening only for her tone and expectant pauses to make the required listening gestures.

 

It was a long night.

 

*****

 

“You barely touched anything at the party, sir.”

 

Bruce rubbed his eyes.“I’m not in the mood, Alfred.”

 

A sigh, but quiet.Alfred wasn’t really irritated – just fretful.“I know.I’ll bring you something later.Right now, I have servers to corral.”

 

“Corral away.I’ll be here.”

 

“As if you’re ever anywhere else,”Alfred muttered, before he took his leave.

 

Bruce had barely settled into the quiet and solitude of the Cave, barely felt his scraped-raw nerves start to quiet when the perimeter alarm went off.

 

“For God’s sake.”Bruce turned it off.It wasn’t the sharp, high pitch that warned of a real intruder.No, this was the quieter _beep-beep-beep_ that meant Superman had hit the grounds at speed. 

 

He’d probably landed at the back, away from potential prying eyes.If that was the case—

 

Yes, there he was, at the entrance to the Cave.Bruce could see him on the security feed.He was in civilian clothes, so it was unlikely this was urgent, but he was was carrying something big under one arm.He used his free hand to wave at the camera.

 

“Mind letting me in?”

 

He always asked that, and Bruce always had a moment of _and what if I did_ that he never gave voice to.If he didn’t let Clark in this way, he’d just fly around to the front and Alfred would let him in that way.

 

Now that he thought about it, Alfred might have absconded with Wayne Manor years ago.He certainly got more of a say on who was or was not allowed in than Bruce did.

 

He turned in time to see Clark drop to the ground right in front of him.“What is it.”

 

“Your birthday.”

 

“I’m aware.”Excruciatingly.

 

“I’d hope so.”Clark rubbed the back of his neck, a little awkward.He still had that thing Bruce had spotted under his arm.It was oddly shaped, and shiny in a metallic sort of way.“I have something for you – for your birthday – and I figured you’d be done with the party by now, so I thought I’d stop by and give it to you.”

 

Oh.

 

They’d only really known each other for a couple years now – been friends for less – but Clark had shown every intention of sticking around, no matter how unenthusiastic Bruce was about the idea at times.

 

Of late, Bruce had been worryingly enthusiastic about Clark sticking around.

 

Putting that thought aside for later, Bruce eyed the lump.“What is that?”

 

“Space metal.”

 

_What?_

 

“Check this out.”Clark held it up with one hand and dealt it a blow with the other.The metal shuddered, rippled, but when Bruce leaned in for a closer look, the dent left behind was far smaller than made sense for the force Clark had used.“I figured you could run tests on it, make armor plates, turn it into fancy silverware.”Clark shrugged.“It just seemed like something you’d like.”

 

It... was.Bruce stared at the metal, trying to figure out the best way to communicate this to Clark without resorting to overkill.

 

“I’ve got something else, too – just a sec.” 

 

Clark disappeared before Bruce could respond. _Something else?_

 

As if Clark hadn’t done enough.As if his random piece of space junk wasn’t worth more than any of the extravagance upstairs because of the intent behind it.Because of the fact that Clark must have, at some point while inspecting meteors out beyond the atmosphere, thought “Bruce would like this” and acted accordingly. 

 

Clark was back a moment later with a plate – Bruce could tell it was one of his from the pattern and the fact that Clark didn’t own china this nice – and a single chocolate cupcake.He set it down at Bruce’s right hand.“I know you just had a party with Belgian chocolate truffles or something, but.Here you go.”

 

Bruce pulled his tie loose, both because of the lump in his throat and for the sake of doing something besides staring silently at the plate.He really needed to say something.

 

“Want me to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in Johnny Cash’s voice?”

 

Finally, something he could respond to without the risk of his voice cracking.“Absolutely not.” 

 

Clark grinned, unrepentant.“Next year, maybe.”

 

“Never.”Bruce cleared his throat, careful.“Thank you, Clark.This—means a lot.”

 

Clark shrugged, self-depreciation and humor.“It’s not crystal dinnerware, but it’s not bad.”

 

And Bruce knew he had to answer that.

 

“I know it’s not.It—that’s why.  It means a lot.”

 

And Clark’s mouth quirked, that little not-quite smile that said he understood.

 

Because he did.That’s why he’d shown up, after Bruce’s “official” birthday was over, with a potential marvel of engineering and a cupcake made with grocery store chocolate. 

 

That’s why Bruce never said _and what if I did mind_ when Clark came to visit.Because he didn’t.

 

Of course—

 

“A few more years and we can start keeping track of time by your grey hair, old man.”

 

—Clark had his moments.

 

Bruce smiled, real and honest, for the first time that night.

 

“That’s what the cowl is for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at it w the Nonsense at work. It was bat dude’s birthday last month and I’m slow as usual, but I have been thinking about it. There’ll be a second chapter for Clark, at some point – I might actually get this one done before his bday.
> 
> titles in this are from from “Deep Water” by American Authors


	2. Give Me One Day Longer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark's birthday comes around — it's more of a success than anyone anticipated

“Why did you do all this for me?"  he asked.  "I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you."

"You have been my friend.  That in itself is a tremendous thing.”

-Charlotte's Web

 

“Master Bruce, have you considered that you may be overthinking this?”

 

Bruce considered the spreadsheet in front of him.“If you don’t like my ideas, just say so, Alfred.”

 

“A seafront property is quite a gesture, sir, but I feel that Mister Kent would prefer something… subtler.”

 

Bruce slumped back with a sigh, running his hands through his hair.“It shouldn’t be so hard.I’ve done this a thousand times.”

 

“Buying the same diamond necklace for three different ladies is not the same as finding a gift for a friend who also happens to be Superman.”

 

Bruce dropped his forehead on the table.He could feel Alfred radiating disapproval at his dramatics.He didn’t care.“I know.”What did you get for Superman, anyway?Clark could have anything, anything at all, and he just—didn’t.Did he not want those things?Did he not care?What did you get for someone who didn’t blatantly want something?

 

Bruce felt his indecision said a lot about him and the society he ran with.He filed the thought away to examine later and sat up, looking over at Alfred for the first time since his butler had brought him tea.“It has to be good, Alfred.He’s—he stays.”

 

People didn’t stay, not in this life.They left because they didn’t need or want him anymore, left because he pushed them away, or left because they died.

 

Bruce had absolutely nothing Clark could possibly need or want (as this painful indecision about a damn birthday gift made very clear), and Clark stayed.Bruce snapped and snarled, distanced himself and actively worked to make spending time with him a miserable experience, and Clark stayed.Clark was invulnerable, possibly immortal.  He stayed. 

Alfred knew better than to make anything of Bruce’s words, but he also knew what they meant.He knew what it meant that, come hell or high water, Clark seemed determined to stay.

 

Bruce doubted he could ever explain this to Clark, but he could—he could make this matter.

 

He could show it, somehow.

 

If he could come up with any decent ideas.

 

He scowled at his spreadsheet.Some help _it_ was being.

 

“Perhaps,” Alfred said mildly, “you should consider calling in the cavalry.”

 

Alfred had suggested this three times already, and Bruce had shut him down.But with forty-six hours and twelve minutes to Clark’s birthday—

 

_—we can start keeping track of time by your grey hair, old man—_

 

—it might be time to take the hit.

 

*****

 

“I’m sure Clark will love whatever you do for him, Bruce.”

 

And that was—nice, certainly, but not very helpful.

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Kent, but—"

 

“I know, I know.”A pause, thoughtful.“Maybe you could get him some new bookshelves.He’s always running out of space for all the books he picks up.”

 

Bruce had stopped by Clark’s apartment earlier that week, intending to do some reconnaissance to get a sense of the sort of thing Clark might like, and was immediately struck by an almost violent desire to buy him an entirely new apartment.

 

The fact that Superman lived in a fourth-floor walkup that Bruce wouldn’t rent to one of his rogues was—sad.

 

He’d only had time to note an extensive collection of books and knickknacks before he was forced to leave or risk doing something incredibly stupid and expensive.

 

If he got Clark a bookshelf, he might as well replace everything else.It was an option.Probably.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,”was all he said aloud.

 

*****

 

Lois Lane laughed for almost a full minute when he asked her.

 

“No, wait, don’t hang up,” she said, a second before he was about to do just that.“Just—I can’t believe you really don’t know what to get Smallville for his birthday.”

 

“He’s not the easiest person to buy gifts for.”

 

“I never have any trouble,” she said, tone leaving absolutely no room to doubt what it was she meant by that.

 

Calling her was probably a mistake, but he was running out of options. 

 

For someone so genuinely friendly, Clark surprisingly (or maybe not so surprisingly) had very few people in his inner circle.

 

“Sorry, I’ll stop.I’m sure you called Martha?”

 

“I did.She told me that Clark would like whatever I got him.”

 

“And that’s true.Look, Bruce—Clark really is the kind of guy who cares more about the intent behind the gift than the gift itself.He won’t have much use for a Ferrari or whatever else it is you billionaires give friends for their birthdays, but he’ll take it anyway because it shows that you cared enough to give it to him.”

 

“Ridiculous.”

 

“Isn’t he?”Lois sounded truly exasperated and also extremely fond.It was a contrary set of feelings, and suited her well.“Get him a diamond-plated snow globe or something.He loves rinky-dink little paperweights like that.”

 

“Why diamond-plated.”

 

“Because you’re rich, dumbass.”Bruce could count on one hand the number of people who spoke to him like that, and three of them were Lois Lane. “Make it hematite, if you only know how to shop in black.”

 

“But then you wouldn’t be able to see the inside of the globe.”

 

“Who cares?He has x-ray vision.” 

 

That… was true.“Informative as this conversation has been, I’m going to have to cut it short.Second National is being robbed.”

 

“Second Nation—oh my God, are you Batmanning while on the phone?”

 

Bruce dropped onto the roof of the bank.“That’s not a word.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Bruce, that’s worse than driving while on the phone!”

 

“Because I'm sure you don't drive while on the phone.”

 

“I’m hanging up now so you don’t die, but I _will_ call you back tomorrow, and you _will_ hear everything I have to say on the topic of your reckless self-endangerment, and possibly everything Clark has to say as well.”

 

“Good night, Ms. Lane.”

 

She hung up on him without deigning to respond.

 

*****

 

“You know, if I was a different person, I might consider your constant break-ins a gross invasion of privacy.”

 

“You’re not a different person, so we can skip the hypotheticals.”

 

Clark snorted.“Good to see you too.”He shut the kitchen window and leaned against it, cape slipping off his shoulder.“What brings you to my humble abode?”

 

Bruce bit down hard on a comment about the state of Clark’s abode.That wasn’t what he was here for.Stick to the plan.“It’s your birthday.”Clark’s eyebrows went up.“You’re surprised?”

 

“That you know?No.That you’re here to – I’m guessing – wish me many happy returns?A little, yeah.”Clark was smiling now.“The good kind of surprised.”

 

That was better than bad surprised, at least.Bruce would have preferred no surprise at all.He might have to work on that.

 

He hadn’t really figured out the best way to actually give Clark his gifts, so he just set them down on the kitchen table and pushed them over.“I’m not singing.”

 

“Aw.”Clark’s eyebrows went up again, looking at the neatly-wrapped packages on the table.“Two?”

 

“I missed your birthday last year.”

 

“You mean the year we spent most of bickering at each other?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Clark’s expression looked like he couldn’t decide if he was confused or something—gentler.

 

Something, definitely.

 

“All right.”He reached toward the flat package and stopped.“You mind?”

 

“They’re yours, Clark, you don’t have to ask.”That came out more snappish than he’d intended.It could be excused, probably.

 

Clark certainly didn’t seem to care; he was picking apart the wrapping paper.He stared at it.“This is—"

 

“A first printing of _Charlotte’s Web._ ”It had taken top dollar for a book about a talking spider, but Bruce had thought—

 

Clark was smiling at him.

 

“I didn’t even know these were still around, Bruce.”Clark ran his fingers down the spine, almost reverently.“Thank you.Just— thank you.”

 

“You haven’t opened the other one.”

 

“Pushy,”Clark said, but he was already turning the second package over in his hands. This one was more oddly-shaped.

 

Clark took one look and burst out laughing.“Oh my God.” 

 

It was a miniature replica of the Daily Planet and its neighboring buildings, all set in a glass globe.Clark flipped it upside down and back again to watch little blue flakes of glitter drift to the ground.

 

“This is incredible!Where did you find it?”

 

“I made it.”

 

Clark—wasn’t smiling anymore.He was just staring.

 

Bruce shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.“It wasn’t hard, Clark.I know basic modeling techniques, and—"

 

It was always startling—a little frightening—for someone who could move as fast Clark to actually _move that fast._

 

Even if it was just because they apparently couldn’t wait another two seconds to hug you.

 

Bruce could feel the warmth of Clark’s body even through his armor, feel the hard glass of the snow globe pushing at his ribs, trapped between them.His arms had come up, defensive, when Clark grabbed him, but now he lowered them to settle, loose and cautious, around Clark’s waist.

 

“Thank you,”Clark whispered.“God, Bruce, I—I wish I had something better than ‘thank you’.”

 

“You’re a journalist.I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

 

Clark laughed thickly and pulled away, rubbing at his eyes.Bruce pretended not to notice.

 

“I don’t know.The last five minutes might fall under ‘indescribable’.”

 

“I’d have settled for ‘tolerable’.”

 

Clark looked at him, suddenly serious.“It’s a lot more than tolerable.”

 

And Bruce didn’t know how to respond to that—not with Clark looking at him like that, eyes bright with unshed tears and that _something_ he still wasn't ready to define.

 

So he didn’t respond to that, specifically.“I’m still not singing.”

 

And Clark laughed, like Bruce had wanted him to.“I’ll give you a pass this year.”He paused, giving Bruce a considering look.

 

Bruce waited.

 

“Get any more grey hair recently?”

 

And Bruce maybe, possibly, had been thinking how he’d respond to that, if Clark asked.

 

“Why do you think I’m wearing the cowl,” he said, even as he pushed it back.

 

Clark smiled, bright and uncomplicated, and Bruce knew Clark was the one who’d probably been making wishes today, who had the right to do so, but he still had one of his own.

 

He wished, silently, with a little more hope than usual, that the “and many more” part of that damn birthday song would apply to both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm way early for Clark's birthday but I always post things immediately after I write them so I don't have to think about proofreading or beta-ing or any of that responsible writer stuff.
> 
> Clark definitely cried when he read Charlotte's Web the first time

**Author's Note:**

> back at it w the Nonsense at work. It was bat dude’s birthday last month and I’m slow as usual, but I have been thinking about it. There’ll be a second chapter for Clark, at some point – I might actually get this one done before his bday.
> 
> titles in this are from from “Deep Water” by American Authors


End file.
